MASTER OF MY FATE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads/Wednesday Word Challenge

The lonesome moon roams the streets
searching for mad love
in all its myriad forms
it's image reflected in the gutter splash
that peppers my trousers
as a fancy horse-drawn carriage blows by.

A calypso drumbeat seeps
from some nearby edifice.
The crickets sing along.

I duck behind a shop
to drain the snake.

Memories of sinning in the alley
thrust
bang
bite
come flooding back.

I'm so uncouth
I laugh
slurring my words
it's only life
I'll just go back again
and take it on the chin.

Drifting along
weaving this way and that
muttering curses
into the dying night.

I am the master of my fate
but where are my subjects?

The moon climbs rapidly
in its umbral sky.

A poem swirls round
in my head
edgy and cryptic
teetering right on the brink
of beginning to stink.

It's about walking  up to
the precipice
 looking down
deciding to back away
and fight another day.

Yes
I believe in mad love
in all its myriad forms
one's only leverage
in a broken world.

A cock crows.

A street sign says
69th Avenue
and I know I'm getting close
though can't remember which
of these lawns might be yours.

This one looks fine
for a little nap
and a snooze
I know you will  find me
and make me your famous souffle.

Ahhhh...

Let the dogs come by
with their pee "drive by"
just as long as I 
can be here
on the street
where  YOOOOO LIIIIIVVVVVE

Burp.



Written for Kerry's Wednesday Word Challenge at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.I had the honor of providing a list of 20 words to be used in a poem. I managed to utilize all twenty of them! Please follow the link above to get in on the fun.

SERIOUS STUFF

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

I saw this late night TV show
about tantra
and sacred sexuality
with this truly intriguing dude
of the severe 
Hungarian features--
long straight hair
and hot bod
who says as a tantra instructor
he's had sex
with anywhere from a thousand
to two thousand women
(he lost count)
all in the name of divine energy
and liberation
of course.

They toss around words like dakini
(female embodiment of enlightened energy)
and polyamory
(all right, if you must know, pigs--it means promiscuity)
and they showed some actual tantra going on
(it's SEX--okay, pigs?) 
and oh...my...God
these folks are new-age 
to the point of self-parody.

But this is serious stuff, folks--
and I, of a long-standing
Buddhist/ Hindu persuasion
am not here to make light
of any of it--
but I think we just gotta laugh
at ourselves sometimes and
 the lengths we will go to
and the ways in which
we try to dress it up
(like putting lipstick on a pig, pigs)
when all it's about
or has ever been about
since the day we left the garden
is just getting laid. 

ANOTHER POEM

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

It was a dark and horny night
dirty diapers and the Doppler effect
were in the air

Damaged child
with his Tinker Toys
don't make any noise
fighting the storm of surprise
under the guise
of normalcy

Who have you been
for lo these many lives
and how many people
are crying quietly inside you?

He heard a dog panting
felt its hot turd breath
on the back of his neck
the dog proffered his paw
and introduced himself

All relationships
involve sacrifice
and just as Paul Simon
has surely suffered for his Art
we look at the world
and discern discordant landscapes
a woman's mountain
a man's molehill
If only I could remember
your memories
but I'm stuck with my own

Diplomacy 
on an international scale
is what's required
we'll send Olive Oyl
with an olive branch
and if that doesn't work
we'll send Popeye
to sock you in the eye

We've trained with the best
we've paid our dues
or you would not see the stellar
lip-syncher who stands before you today

Back off boogaloo
I've got no use
for pretentious retorts
you're certified crazy and
there's some kind of shit
some kind of madness
in the way you've chosen
to live in this world

Blue smoke
echoes of ourselves
reverberating through time
I'm setting off for someplace
east of the sun
and west of Rangoon

And I don't owe this silly world a thing
but maybe another poem